


A Look At Wonderland

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-12
Updated: 2005-11-28
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: But every time his warm hand shifted on my cold, numb arm, my heart strings jerked and I felt awkward and out of place…but I’ve grown to associate that feeling with ecstasy.





	1. I, Lily the Freak

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

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 **A L** ook **A** t **W** onderland

**_b_ ** _y **W** ired **D** ragonfli_

**C** hapter **O** ne - **I** , **L** ily **t** he **F** reak  
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" **F** _eeling like a freak on a leash_.   
**F** _eeling like I have no release_.   
**H** _ow many times have I felt diseased_?   
**N** _othing in my life is free... is free_."

- **K** orn ( **F** reak **O** n **a** **L** eash)  
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"You're just disgusting!"

"Don't point that stick at me!"

"Are you still mooning over that Potter boy? Don't lie, I heard you talking with your odd friend in the fireplace!"

"I bet you don't have _real_ friends anyway..."

"Why would I want to have weird hair like _you_?"

"Mum! _She_ can't go to my birthday, people will think I'm strange like _her_."

"Get out of my room, you freak."

"Vernon, this is... a deeply disturbed charity case, our family is housing her until she's sent off to boarding school."

"What the bloody hell? What is this? _Lily!_ Tell me what this right now you repugnant brat!"

There must have been a million things I could have said in response to her idiocy (but I wasn't about to tell her the mysterious green mass in her hair was frogspawn...). There must have been a million times I would have given anything to hex her into October. There were also a million more times I had told myself that I shouldn’t give a damn about what she said. I guess eventually I made myself believe this, but it still didn’t change the fact that I did care.

If there was one thing that could ruin my day it was the word “freak”� muttered under the breath of my darling sister Petunia. I never could understand why she hated me being a witch so much, but I bet a large part of it was due to jealously. Petunia was a bit of a nitwit (C’mon...somebody has to say it!), so all the attention Mum and Dad gave me must have really hit a nerve. She rarely had them fondling over some achievement of hers, and me coming along as a witch must have just been another one Lily’s first-prize ribbons to her.

I never asked mum and dad to fall all over themselves when I got my Hogwarts letter. They went on for _days_ about how I was a witch _this_ , how I would be studying magic _that_. At ten, I accepted it readily, sucking up the spotlight like a solar panel.

Now...it was just getting bothersome each time they asked me to explain something over dinner. _“Lily, tell us some more about those hinkywhatsits.”�_ or my favorite _“So the ceiling in the great hall is enchanted to look_ exactly _like the sky outside?”�_ Really, you’d think they’d have gotten it the first two hundred and seventy two times.

Petunia only sniffed and stuck her nose in the air as though we were discussing some sort of food that she found distasteful. She acted as though I’d magiked the words “ **LOOK AT ME** ”� onto my forehead and skipped around the house making poptarts float and microwaves sparkle and shudder and glow. Which I wouldn’t even is I could. After all, no magic out side of school, right?

Tunia used to be wonderfull. The best sister I could ask for. I remember how instead of reguarding me as a tag-along, she’d bring me to show off to her friends. “Look at my pretty sister!”� she’d say, as if I were a doll Petunia was proud of having in her possesion. In the end all the credit came back to her. Now that I think back on it, the whole thing wasn’t that great, but at least she looked at me with that fond sort of look only sisters can pass back and forth. I had always felt so loved by her, but I guess it really _was_ showing off to such a great extent no one would have guessed. After all, if she could just thrust me aside like some doll that had lost an eye or perhaps a foot...

If becoming abnormal, a “freak”�, could turn her against me that swiftly, then what the hell was I doing clinging on to those memories. I was trying to hold on to a relationship with my sister that had been so sheer and translucent that I can’t believe I couldn’t see through her right away.

But hey, I was ten. Young and stupid; naive and ignorant. That’s all in the past now, isn’t it? Hakuna Matata or whatever.

I guess I could be mature about the whole matter and pretend what she says doesn’t affect me, and for the most part, I’ve been able to keep that facade up. But sometimes, I can’t help but kick her in the shins with only “Shut Up, **_Tuna_**!”� as an explanation and a whiney emphasis on my sister’s most hated meat.

I’ve even gone so far as to wonder if she hates tuna because of it’s foul taste, or for the fact that it’s a nickname that _I_ , _Lily the Freak_ , thought up. Knowing the vile excuse of a human, I would go with the latter. I swear, God put her on earth to torture me.

Okay...so now I’m ranting and raving and whining like some sniveling ten year old. But hey, isn’t that how memoirs get started? No one ever actually writes these things on a regular boring day where the single highlight of said day is going to the store to buy a journal to write in to relieve themselves of aforementioned boredom. I’m sure that was a odd run on sentence that made no sense, but hey, poo to you on that.

For the record of anyone who finds this and is reading at this precise moment, I, Lily Evans, soon to be 5th year Gryffie at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry am not the kind of girl that does anything like buying diaries for themselves gossip in. I’m the kind of girl that is bugged by various maggots on a day to day basis and find that the only way I’ll keep from sticking my wand in their ears and shouting “ _Expelliarmus_ ”� is by venting in one of these magic journal type diary things.

I have always been against diaries for many reasons. I could never grasp why a person would want to spend so much time writing to a notebook that could not, beyond their wildest dreams respond in any way, shape, or form. I was always more comfortable discussing my problems with people. After all, people can listen and give answers and offer advice. To top that off, they can cheer you up and comfort you.

Even post-Hogwarts-letter I retained this belief, and never quite realized that in _this_ world, journals could do exactly what people go do, give or take a few things. I never gave the subject much thought until I found this book beneath layers of wrapping paper at the foot of my bed on Christmas morning. It was a gift from Samantha Daniels, a firstie I tutor in Charms. Of course, Sam was never able to pick up on my “unique”� outlook on life if she thinks a diary is at all a suitable gift.

The irony would have to be that I’m using something I once considered taboo to have in my possession, kept out of politeness, and am now writing in with a pen Tuna chucked at my head when she passed by my door.

Alas, there goes my free will. Soon I will be join the hoards of teenage girls who journal at any given moment and always have shrunken versions of their precious books tucked into their knickers and what not. I predict that before the end of summer I will dye my hair blonde and start dressing like Barbie.

I truthfully hope you know me well enough by now to also know that the above is something that I would never consider doing. I will never become a hair-dying-scrap-wearing thing. 

My god.

I’ve just described Petunia.  


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My sister is **  
_mad_  
**. She just attempted to decapitate Napkin with a clothes hanger when he tried to deliver my supply list. Honestly, the bird didn’t even come near her. The poor thing mistook her room for mine again. Though how he would make such an error after nearly losing an eye last time ... I don’t know.

Luckily, I’d heard Tuna’s deranged shrieks from down the hall and called Napkin to safety. Sadly, my owl was named on a suggestion the despicably foul Petunia Evan gave me.

_“Tunia! Tunia! Look at my new owl!”� a bright eyed Lily had said._

_“Keep that thing away from me!”� old shit-for-brains had screeched._

_The ten year old me frowned, crest fallen._

_Petunia, who might still have cared for me at this point, softened her expression. Lily took this as an opportunity to reconcile._

_“What should I name him? He’s white? What reminds you of white?”� I had said, hoping to show my dear sister that although I was now a freak, I still wanted her to be in my life, and I still cared about her enough to ask her opinion._

_A grin spread across her face, on of malice as a I recall now._

_“Napkins!”� she spat, “Name it Napkin!”�_

_“Oh, okay,”� I had said, not liking the name one bit, “Thanks Tunia!”�_

Nevertheless, I took her stupid suggestion. My parents for the life of themselves could not figure out why I had named my owl after a piece of pressed paper. When I finally told them and grew to understand that Tuna had only humored me out of spite, both Napkin and I had grown to fond of his name to change it.

To this day, I get ridiculous looks from old and young students alike when I come into the owlery yelling “Napkin!”�

Napkins restless hooting brought me out of my reverie. I seem to zone out a lot these days, drifting off on pointless flashbacks and all. Grimly, I realize how, despite my effort, my thoughts all summer focus mainly on the vile potato sack that is my sister. For someone who claims not to care for that horse’s opinion, I sure do think of her a lot.

Who can blame me though? Left at home all summer with that hag. At least she takes the liberty to drive off with _Vernon_ in his cherry red pickup truck, leaving me a few hours of peace.

Stupid, stupid, man. Talking about his silly drills all day. Really, can we get any more _droll_? And Tuna is head over heels in love with him. Stupid, stupid, girl. I’d think she’d chose just a _bit_ better, but who am I to complain? They truly deserve each other.

They could go off an have their children right now. Silly little children that are half tuna fish and half drills. I could see it now; her running about, breathing down their necks and spoiling them rotten. I’d bet she’d give them all the attention our parents never gave her.

I even went as far as to grind my teeth at that point, which Napkin noticed as well since he hooted and gave me a startled look.

Breath Evans. Calm down.

Looking down his extended foot, I unfastened three letters. One from Hogwarts, one from Emmy Vance, and one, surprisingly, from Remus Lupin.

The first, being a standard Hogwarts letter, was quickly thrust onto the top of a pile of clothing in my open trunk. I am one of those people who takes dreadfully long to pack(I always pack much more than I need) and takes even longer to unpack once she returns from where she’s been.

Therefore, I thought it best to leave the bloody trunk open all summer, and do both packing and unpacking at the same time. This method was quickly introduced after first year where I was driven insane opening and reopening my trunk so much. I shook my head at the mess and took up Em’s letter.

  
**Lily, Darling**

**Summer has been horribly interesting without you, (Hope you caught the sarcasm there) and I’m sure I’d be glad to complain about my disconfigured family** **and wast both of our time, but alack, that’s your _forte_ , isn’t it?**

**Besides, the day Emmeline Vance admits, in writing, that her family gets to her (which it doesn’t) is the day my mother leaves my father for a muggle.**

**Meh, what to say...surprisingly, my dear old mum actually agreed to let you stay for the last two weeks of summer. What a shame, you’ll have only one more week with Petty.**   


Emmeline Vance shared, to some extent, sympathy for my family problems. She was pureblooded, which her parents held in high regard. Of course, they were not crazy-bonkers like the Blacks, but then again, no one was crazy-bonkers like the Blacks. It wasn’t that the Vances hated muggle-borns. They just wanted to keep the family line clean, and insisted Em marry pure. Em of course, opposed their views as the prospect of keeping her family inbred disgusted her. Many people said she was the girlified Sirius Black, but if anything, Sirius was Em with slightly less passion and a bit more testosterone. Okay, maybe not passion, more like temper.

  
**Did you know I had to go to another bleeding family wedding? This time I KNOW my parents didn’t know ANYONE at the party. Merlin’s beard, WE WERE IN HONG KONG! As in China; as in “you’ve-only-been-invited-to-this-wedding-cuz-my-parents-are-nutcases-like-yours-and-we-had-to-invite-everyone-in-the-whole-friggin-family-tree”�! I liked the rice though, but that’s besides the point. This is all so bloody ludicrous.**

**Promise me, Lily, that you will NEVER let me go after anyone more than half magical, because if I am forced to use a twenty tome family tree to compile my wedding list thing. . .I will combust into tiny little mutilated Em pieces I will send them (or have them sent, since I’ll be dead and all) to you in a small box so you can look at it every day and feel guilt and shame.**

**On a lighter note, I’ve heard from Marls and she’ll be joining out rendevous. Madam Malkin’s on August 16th, noon.**

**Toodles,**

**Em**   


Emmy is an enigma. A small, wiry, tempered, powerful, if a bit eccentric, witch.The eccentricity comes from her father, she says. Once I had met Mr. Vance, I couldn’t help but agree and add bipolarity to the list of traits they shared.

However, this letter puts me into a much better mood. Em always brightens the day. Whether through her muggle item experimentation, (“Well, I’m going to marry a man at least half related to some muggle, so I have to know how this stuff works. I’ll figure out Kleenex, and I definately won’t be setting it on fire anymore.”�)

A bit quirky, and a pyro to boot...but Em was Em. Em was sunflowers and sparkly quills and the color orange and citrus mixed with black coffee. Spunky, eccentric, mad. But we’re all mad...haven’t I gone over this before?

Marlene is mad too. She’s her own special brand of mad. She’d have to be the mature, opinionated sort of patient person who could make us shift our feet in embarrassment after a deed of dirty revenge was pulled. Then the next moment, she would grin like a maniac and crack up.

Nowdon’t get me wrong, she’s not strict or anything. Not even close. The silly girl is prone to flights of fancy and is the greatest procrastinator I know. But sometimes she has this kind of insight...I don’t know. I’ve always thought she was forced to grow up too fast. She’s like the older sister I never had. (Yes, I’m aware I have a sister, if you’d call her that, but hush.)

She’s my pillar of strength if you want to got as far as labeling her. Sensible and once again: patient. Bit her temper is **_HELL_** to deal with. She’s lost it so rarely that when she does. . .the flares of her raw rage burn and lash out. It’s wicked awesome but also very scary, especially when she has a wand at hand...If Em is citrus and coffee, Marlene would have to be vanilla and blueberries.

Listen to me, making scent and fruit analogies. But I told you...we’re all off our rockers. Me the most if you insist, but I have long since learnt to deal with it.

Lastly, I was left with a letter from Remus in my hand. Remus, Remus, Remus. Godric, I can’t think of anything that describes him, but hey, I’ve rarely spoken eight words to him in the four years I’ve known him. (Hmm...two words per year...“hello”� and “goodbye”� I suppose.)

So why was holding in my hand, a thick letter, from none other than Remus Lupin? Hey...there’s something bulky in here!

Upon opening, I find my prefect badge as well as a letter from Hogwarts regarding my prefect-ness. Why does Remus have this? Gasp! Unless! He’s really McGonagall in disguise...but that’s stupid. Nevermind, I just found a short letter from Lupin. It can’t even be considered a letter...more like a note, really.

  
**_Hello Lily,_ **

**_It seems Dumbledore accidentally sent me your letter as well. Congrats on getting elected prefect. I did too._ **

**_-Remus_ **   


See? That is completely note-like. Well, that explains it. I’m a prefect! I could kiss someone I’m so happy. In fact...I just kissed Napkin. Poor own, now he’s just much more confused. He pecked me sharply and flew to the top of my closet. I suppose it reminds him of the owlery up there.  
 **  
  
**  


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**  
AN:  
** So, what do you think? Good, bad, horrible? Do you suddenly feel an urge to pick up you pitchforks, or perhaps...review?

This is my first fanfic in a long time, so, don’t be unnecessarily brutal. I’m not sure if and when this will be updated again. This was a sort of spur of the moment thing, but I like it. It seems much easier to write that my past big fanfiction, so I might not give up on it. Review, please, the reviews really _do_ help. They keep me going.

I do not have a beta reader yet (hint hint)so please bare with me and my spell checker. If anyone has ideas or suggestion, don’t hesitate to contact me. Email and aim listed in my profile.

- **W** ired  


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	2. Over-elaborate Plots for Dramatic Escapes

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**  
Disclaimer:  
** **I don't own Disney. It owns itself, as well as a bunch of other companies we may never think it does.**

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** A L ** ook **At** **W** onderland

**_b_ ** _y_ **_W_ ** _ired **Dragonfli**_

**C** hapter **T** wo - **O** ver-elaborate **P** lots **f** or **D** ramatic **E** scapes  


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" **Y** _our gonna fall behind me_  
 **Y** _our gonna cry and beg for merc_ y  
 **C** _ause your not ready baby_  
 **A** _nd you got nothing on me_ "  
- **T** he **D** onnas ( **F** all **B** ehind **M** e)  


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1 day until I see Em and Marlene and normal people.

16 days until Hogwarts.

160 days until my birthday. (That took a while to figure out…)

77 days until Halloween.

132 days until Christmas.

3 hours until Lily Evans gets fed up with the rest of the Evans clan and runs away.

5 seconds until Lily Evans becomes fed up with countdowns and stops.

There is only so much a redhead can take until (oh god, I swear, if I see or hear the word “until”� one more time I will scream) she does something completely stupid that she will regret later. Therefore, one has to prevent the problem with proper intervention.

First, one will annoy herself with stupid unnecessary list-making.

_Check._

Then she will over-elaborately plot her dramatic escape while watching soaps on the telly and eating lemon flavored wafers she hates but can’t seem to stop consuming.

_Check._

Third, she will switch the channel and see a Russian tennis player break his racket while attempting to hit his opponent with it.

_Check_.

Now, I know you’re not supposed to do that in tennis. For Merlin’s sake, even Em would have been able to figure that out, and she hasn’t taken muggle studies a day in her life. Which she should, really, considering that her husband will be part muggle.

Lily Evans’ To Do List:

1.) Pack.

2.) Clean Napkin’s cage.

3.) Leave _The Monster Book of Monsters_ in Tuna’s pillowcase.

4.) Take a shower.

5.) Finish HoM essay.

6.) Get a life, thus giving myself ample amounts of things to make “to do”� lists for.

7.) Leave Mum and Dad a goodbye note before making my brilliant escape.

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Dear Mum and Dad,

I have been kidnapped and held ransom for 2,567,892,362,999.3 Yen. They told me to tell that if you ever want to see me again, you are to phone the old, abandoned warehouse on the dock. A man will answer with:

“Hello, is this the Easter Bunny?”�

At this point, you will breath heavily into the receiver three times and say “Please Hold”� before hanging up.

Wait precisely five minutes and thirty-two seconds before calling again. This time, _you_ will start conversation with :

“Mr. Oldguy, your deliver of Arabian ducks came in, would you like us to keep them cold for you?”� At which he will reply:

“My elephant lost his shoe.”�

You ask, “Left, or right?”� and he will answer.

Left: Drive by the Smith’s home and throw the money into Benji’s doghouse.

Right: They have already killed me in impatience and you have to come by and pick up my dead, decaying body.

With Love,

Lily

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I struggled at the top of the fence for ten minutes before falling into my backyard again, and realizing that:

1.) This running away thing will never work.

2.) I have no idea how to get to the Leaky Cauldron.

3.) My parents don’t deserve the shitty note I left them.

4.) I’m particularly fond of making lists today.

But alas, I’m insane. That explains it perfectly.

I sat in the kitchen, sipping orange juice, when Petunia came home. She jumped five feet and hit her head on the door frame, hissing “What the hell are _you_ doing here?”� the moment she saw me. Then she glanced into the backyard to make sure no one had seen her collision with a piece of wood. Finally satisfied, she shut the back door.

I snorted and offered: “I live here Petunia.”�

“No you don’t,”� she said airily, “You just visit once a year. If anything, you live in that... _freak house_.”�

I rolled my eyes. I really didn’t need nor want to deal with this right now.

“Yes Petunia, I am a freak, and I live in a freak house along with my freak friends, and we all learn freakish things that only freakish people like us can freakishly learn.”� I said, boredly, already writing another note to my parents, “Does that cover everything?”�

“I—you—wha—?”� answered the potato sack.

“Good,”� I said casually, “Tell mum and dad that I left early and took the bus to Em’s house and that I’ll see them next summer.”� and with that, I pinned the note to the fridge with a magnet, stuffed the insane one into my pocket unceremoniously, and left with my luggage through the front door.

Petunia stood there with her mouth hanging open stupidly as if she had forgotten to breathe. Maybe she was appalled to the point that she _did_ forget to breathe. I wouldn’t put it past her, she tended to get hung up over stupid things like this. I just shook my head sadly and shut the door behind me.

Once out in the open, I sighed, very surprised with myself at acting so maturely and coolly in the situation. I slipped my wand out of my sleeve(I know it’s going to fall out one of these days but I just can’t help the stupid habit) and looked at it fondly, remembering the day I got it. Ten and a quarter inches, willow.

I remember Mr. Ollivander, he’d used a very corny phrase when my wand and I found each other. “A Charming wand for a charming young lady,”� he’d said. All I had done was mutter an embarrassed thank you and grin and grin and stare at my wand like it was a piece of the stars. It might as well have been to me in that precise moment.

Ugh, listen to me, going on about wands...I must sound like the biggest dork right now. So anyway, I walked a few feet until(there’s that word again, I suppose I have to scream now...oh dear...the decaying, wrinkling, bus-driving bus driver is looking at me strangely) I came to the curb. Pointing my wand into the air, I felt rather stupid.

Em had told me about the Knight Bus two years ago, and right now, I dearly hoped it existed. The last thing I’d need would be to have to go back into the house and admit defeat for the second time that night.

“C’mon!”� I muttered, and as though it heard me, the bus suddenly flew out of thin air with a series of bangs, and launched itself at me. I shrieked and jumped back. Glaring at the bus driver, I got on.

“Where you off to, miss?”� he asked, tipping his hat over his _extremely_ creased forehead and smiling with his rotten, twisted teeth.

I winced and quickly chirped “The Leaky Cauldron”� before running off to the back. And here I sit, curled up in the corner on a stiff bed, glancing at the bus driver, who keeps giving me maniac glances, then out the window. I’m starting to think that this whole leaving thing was a bit too brash and hasty(Is brash even a word...if it is, I doubt it was actually used right...) and I feel all the courage drip away and I’m left with nothing but a deep unsettled feeling in my stomach and I feel like an idiot.

It’s so dark outside...maybe I was stuck on that fence longer than I thought.

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Gah! He touched me! The old icky twisted rot-mouth touched me.

But I’m over-reacting, and being rude...which I wasn't raised to do. Really, what do I have against that man. Am I really that shallow to judge him by his looks? Have I always done this? Why am I only realizing this now.

Then again, he does look frightening. He scares me, but I'm off the bus now. And him poking me is alright, since he was waking me up. Good, there, calm down Evans. There's a good girl.

I always fall asleep at the wrong times. Really, now I won't be able to get to sleep for the rest of the night. If wandering Diagon Alley were an option, I'd take it, but silly old me would probably be scared off by a tea cozy at this point. Of course, I could go off into the Apothecary and get a sleep potion, but it smells like cabbage in there, and I hate cabbage.

I know lots of people dislike it, and wouldn't want to eat it, but I mean I absolutely _abhor_ it. I have an irrational hate of cabbage. First off, the word is disgusting! Just saying it, ugh... _cabbage_. Really, even putting a French accent on it won't help. Cab _a_ ge.

Merlin's Beard! Listen to me. Talking about cabbage. First about wands, now about cabbage! Do I really have so little of a life that I am forced to go _on_ and _on_ about cabbage and wands?

Whatever, maybe I will go down to the Apothecary for that potion, it's not _too_ far off from the Leaky Cauldron. If it keeps me from talking about cabbages and wands...in fact, I'll get a dreamless draught, to keep me from _dreaming_ about cabbages and wands.

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**Emmy's House**

**August 16 - 3:23 PM**

Yes, I did just write the date, time and location of Lily Evans at the time that she is writing in her journal. It was all Marlene's doing, I swear. She made me do it. Threatening me with a fly swatter...devil's advocate.

Merlin! Now she's hitting me over the head for writing that. But she is the devil's advocate, really she is. Marlene's a stickler for grammar things like this. She hates anything with no heading. I bet she's swatting me for extra measure to make up for all the times I didn't date my letters to her this summer.

Goddammit! That girl does not know when to quit.

There we go, the fly swatter is now on the floor broken into two pieces. Serves her right. I just hope it wasn't Em's. With her, it's probably some rare Tibetan fly swatter. Everything the Vances own is rare or Tibetan...or both.

I suggested to Marlene that we hide the swatter before Em comes back from dealing with Barkin, their resident drunk. Of course, he's a house elf so, two bottles of anything will get him wobbling. I really don't know why they keep him. Not only does he _never_ do the work, but they still keep paying him in butter-beer.

Em says he's kept for amusement purposes, apparently, last week he got up on roof and started singing all of _The Screaming Banshees_ ' greatest hits. They couldn't get him down for four hours. Of course, that's because only Mrs. Vance was attempting to. Emmy and her dad were just standing there laughing. Sadomasochism, add that to the list of traits they share as well.

Speak of the devil, Emmeline Vance has just strolled into her room with five batches of popcorn in her arms.

"Hope you like popcorn," she offered as an explanation.

I cocked an eyebrow in response. Marlene took a bowl from Em and promptly began to stuff herself.

"Well Barkin—" she began.

"Barkin' Mad is more like it!" Marlene managed through a mouthful of popcorn. I started at her sudden outburst, but she was already distracted. She scooped up another handful and counted out the individual pieces before shoveling _that_ into her mouth.

"—was drunk," Em continued, "And fancied that my mum asked him to make some popcorn for the Polish Army...and I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

I choked on a kernel laughing.

"We now have an entire dinning room, kitchen, and pantry's worth of popcorn." she finished.

I was still on the floor, choking on a bloody popcorn kernel. Of course, no one bothered to pat my back, or help me in any way, shape, or form.

"I propose a contest to see who can fit the largest amount of popcorn in her mouth." Marlene piped up randomly.

I snorted, which sucked the kernel into my stomach, but launched me into a coughing fit.

"Lily, are you alright?" Marlene asked, in what would have been a concerned voice. I just glared and proceed to hack my lungs, and half a spleen, out.

"I second the motion, and in case Lily does disagree, after all, she now seems to have had a traumatic experience with popcorn, she will be over-ruled... _so_...I propose we begin once Lily has composed herself." Em said brightly.

"I second the motion!" Marlene McKinnon said, with a wry grin on her face.

I sat up, gave a small cough and crossed my arms in front of my chest. Em pushed my bowl at me, and gave the signal to begin.

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**Emmy's House**

**August 16 - 8:46 PM**

I will never, ever, ever, _ever_ , agree to another one of Marlene's contests. I should have know. I should have the the first day I met her, when I nearly fell into the lake when coming to Hogwarts for the first time. She dared Em and me to try to summon the Giant Squid. ("The winner get to...uh...choose her bed first!") Lame prize, but I had heard a lot on the train about bed bugs. Trust me, they were _scary_ the way the older students described them.

Sadly, I was the winner, and almost got dragged into the lake by the squid. I'm not as pathetic around my friends as I appear to be. We've _all_ had our fair share of embarrassment.

Right now, I am so full, I could cry. I have not moved for three hours. We watched a bunch of lame Disney movies. The Princess series in particular. I _hate_ Disney. Everything is so commericalized with Disney. All they give you is the sugar coated shit. Why is it that the witches are _always_ evil? Or more specifically...why are all the powerful evil people witches? That shows you how accurate Disney is.

We started a long debate on how stupid the movies are. Nothing like that ever happens in real life. You don't see your prince, once, and fall in love, get sent halfway to Pluto, and have him track you down and rescue you. First, women aren't that pathetic. Second, you can't get sent halfway to Pluto, because I'm sure that's just open air...or lack there of. Third, love/like/crushes, do not work that way. We all wish they did, but they don't.

These movies only make me depressed. But hey, I'm young, I shouldn't be worried about any of this right now, right? I feel like a blimp right now. There is soo much popcorn in me, if the Polish Army did, indeed, need sustenance, and they had only my body to rip open, they would be able to retrieve enough popcorn to feed their militia doubly. Gross concept but, yet, it works.

Okay, imagining Polish people cutting my stomach open, while exclaiming wild Yiddish phrases(It is the Pols that speak Yiddish, right?) does not help my full estomago(Spanish for stomach). Must go puke now. They'll have to fish around in the plumbing if they want food, 'cuz they sure as hell aren't slicing me up. Either that, or turn on Emmy or Marls.

Marlene read the "Polish-army-cutting-me-open" bit and now has to use the bathroom as well. We'll prolly be fighting in front of the door for the next hour before just vomiting all over each other.

Oh Godric. Someone shut me up. Take the quill away, quick! Next thing you know, I'll be describing castration in detail.

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**  
A/N:  
** Umrm...tada? I hope you guys like this chapter...and if you do...review! That rhymes...

You might get a comment on your icon out of it.

Cheers,  
- **W** ired

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	3. Butter Cream Bosom

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** A L ** ook **A** t **W** onderland

**_b_ ** _y **W** ired **D** ragonfli_

**C** hapter **T** hree — **B** utter **C** ream **B** osom

  


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" **B** _ut we sing_  
 **I** _f we're going no where_  
 **Y** _eah we sing_  
 **I** _f it's not enough_ "  
- **L** ostprophets ( **L** ast **T** rain)

  


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**Em’s House…**

**August 31, 7:00 PM**

We are procrastinators. Never question that. It is the day before school starts, and we only just got our supplies.

I couldn’t sleep last night. I thought I heard someone hammering in some other room. It kept me up until two, when I realized it was just a vein throbbing in back of my ear. But it _really_ sounded like hammering.

So we got up in the morning, had toast and a popcorn ball (we still haven’t run out of popcorn), and flooed to diagon alley. Barkin was too predisposed to prepare an adequate meal, so in less than an hour, we were hungry again.

Off we went to Florean Fortescue’s. I’m not going to bore you with details of how long the walk there seemed. I’m not going to tell you that I counted every brick in the alleyway. At some point I did not doze off and get stuck on the number 304. Oh dear, it seems I contradict myself.

They have the best ice cream and Fortescue’s. It’s magical after all. I just let out an “mm…”� and Marlene looked up, startled. She’s on Em’s bed, sketching Emmy with her new quill. I snorted, as Marlene has an amusing ink blotch on her chin, where she rests her fingers when deep in concentration.

That girl always has held the quill too low. Her fingers are perpetually inky. Marlene just shook her head at me and ran a hand though her hair. For Marlene, that expresses a sigh. She has never liked sighing though; she has a strange opinion that sighing is a vulgar noise. However, her disappointment at me (Marlene hates my journal. When she got a journal I told her never to write in it and leave it for the house elves to find. She stupidly followed my suggestion. And now, here I am, writing in a journal, being a total hypocrite.) was overlooked as she got ink in her hair.

Emmy glared at me because I laughed and is now looking through potions to remove the ink. I could get it off with a charm but, No! We aren’t allowed to use magic outside of school! I hate that rule…hey…that kinda rhymes.

Um…back to the story…right.

So we are sitting at the table having a perfectly fine time when none other than James Potter wanders in with Sirius Black in tow.

“Marls! Da _h_ ling!”� Sirius sang, enunciating both words too much.

Marlene rolled her eyes but smiled. I narrowed my eyes and my gaze darted between both of them. I noticed that Marlene started to pay attention to Sirius a lot at the end of last year. She usually hated guys like him, but after being partnered together in potions last year (where their potion blew up while they were arguing and attached them at the hip for two days) her views of him seemed to change a lot.

Sirius slid into the seat and wrapped his arm around her waist. Emmy choked on her ice cream, and all I could do was pat her back and remember my near death experience with that popcorn kernel and gape. Gape…not grape.

Marlene gave a sickly sweet smile and disentangled his arm from her waist.

“Sirius, doll, how nice to see you.”� She deadpanned.

“I am _not_ a doll,”� he scoffed, and at that point I tuned him out. Turning to James, I nodded in greeting, as that was the only thing I had the concentration to do.

I have had a crush on James Potter since second year when he made chaser on the Quidditch team. Yes, Lily Evans is extremely shallow. Isn’t everyone though? I always noticed that he was cute, but during first year, I was more focused on becoming adapted to the magic world.

But I said crush, as in; I think he’s cute, as in; I don’t think he would ever be boyfriend material, as in; I would never go out with him, or vice versa. In short…eye candy, nothing more.

He smiled and slid in next to me. Em was in the middle of the group, still sort of choking. At this point, I was only half patting Em’s back, half of my pats landed on air. I realized this and stopped, before scooting over and making more room for James.

We had sat down pretty spaced out, us three, that is. So James had sat down pretty awkwardly, barely fitting his bottom onto the cushioned chair. He eyed the stack of books in the middle of the table.

“Do you guys always drag your books around everywhere…?”� he asked open-endedly.

“Oh please? As if we’d buy this crap earlier than today.”� Marlene replied in a mock annoyed voice.

Em was still clearing her throat of coughs, and I sat pathetically staring at my ice cream. I noticed Marlene squirm out of the corner of my eye. Sirius was poking her now, grinning widely.

“It seems someone has taken to you quite well Marlene,”� I said, in a teasing voice.

“Yes, I’m afraid so…he’s like a lost puppy I can’t get rid of.”�

Both Sirius and James grinned (In Sirius’ case…wider) at the mention of “puppy”�, sending each other what was supposed to be a significant look I believe.

“Marlsie-poo, you know you love me.”� He said in a baby voice, pinching her cheeks.

“I suppose so, in a strange, demented sort of way,”� she said snorting, yet smiling all the same.

I giggle and wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. James chuckled a bit and smiled at me. My heart flipped a few times before I reminded myself that I don’t get worked up over guys.

“What’s that supposed to mean Marlene?”� Emmy asked quietly from behind her ice cream. I voiced a “yeah”�.

“It means,”� James explained, “That Sirie and Marlie are going out.”�

Both Em and I stared open-mouthed at Marlene, expecting her to deny it right away.

“Oh please,”� she began, giving us hope, “What’s with all these stupid nick names?”�

Ha…that made it official. I still sort of gaped before turning to Em and grinning.

“What?”� she asked.

“You owe me five galleons.”�

“That’s a bit random…what for?”�

“I bet you that she liked him at the end of last year. Here’s the proof.”� I said smugly.

Em blushed in frustration and reached into her money bag to draw out the aforementioned sum. This coaxed another chuckle out of James. He looked up at Sirius and said: “I’ll go get us ice cream, and leave thee with thy lady for a while.”�

Off he went, me staring after him. Em poked me in the shoulder and alerted me that my butter cream was dribbling off my spoon and onto the table top. Both Em and Marlene were aware of my crush on James Potter. Em has read over my shoulder and informs me that I sure do write about James a lot, which is ridiculous since I mention either her or Marlene more than Potter.

She also comments that she doesn’t know how I can spend so much of my time writing in that thing. I explain to her that the journal works as a sort of pensive, and the special quill that comes with it works as a wand of sorts, so I’m not actually writing anything out.

While Em is left to ponder that, I will continue with my retelling of the occurrence. So Potter came back, and resumed his seat next to me. He got a butter cream as well.

“You like butter cream too?”� I asked, somewhat surprised. He had been a bit of a prick the entire time, and him liking my favorite ice cream would definitely give him some brownie points.

“Well, I haven’t ever actually tried it; I just watched you and you seemed to enjoy it so much…that I decided to try it for myself.”�

“By God! A butter cream virgin!”� I sort of squeaked.

My remark must have been very high pitched, since Em, Sirius, Marlene, and a few other tables in our vicinity stopped talking to stare at me.

“What? He’s never tried butter cream before…”� I offered, blushing all the while.

Marlene rolled her eyes, and Sirius openly laughed at his friend. Em’s gaze rested on us and she pointed her spoon threateningly at James.

“You’d better try it before Lily shoves the bowl down your throat.”� She said very seriously.

“Are you serious,”� he asked, before wincing at the pun he walked into.

“No he is,”� I said, pointing at Sirius…I couldn’t resist.

Sirius looked up and glanced about, as if that would catch him up with the conversation. Soon, he became disinterested and began bugging Marlene again. While this happened, James had taste-tested the ice cream, and was now scarfing it down like a pig.

“Slow down or you’ll get brain freeze.”� Emmy said, and I nodded in agreement.

He lifted his spoon to point it and her and say something, but ended up launching a bit of ice cream at me. I retaliated by lifting my own spoon and flicking ice cream at him. It landed in his hair, which must have really pissed him off since he scooped a handful of butter cream, and smeared it on my shirt.

“Oops…”� he said, in a very false, and very not “oops”� voice. All I could do was gasp.

And he didn’t just run his ice cream coated hand across my shirt, he rubbed it in, making sure his hand brushed my rack no less than twelve times. I finally regained my senses and slapped his hand away, before dumping the contents of my bowl down his pants. I was nice enough, though, to do it in the back. He jumped up and screamed in coldness. I laughed.

“Food fight!”� Sirius proclaimed, before grabbing his own chocolate ice cream and throwing it at the nearest person, which happened to be the manager who came out to see what was going on.

And that is how we were kicked out of Florean Fortescue’s. I gave James a deadly look before stalking off. The last thing I heard was Em giggling as she struggled to catch up. When questioned about it later, she said that James had said that he’d “See me tomorrow, butter cream bosom!”�

Marlene caught up with us at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, her lipstick drastically smeared and faded.

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**5th Year Gryffindor Girls’ Dorm Room**

**September 1st, 9:37 PM**

The moment I got onto the train I shrunk my trunks and left them with Em and Marlene, and went off to the prefects’ compartment.

While wandering around aimlessly (I had no clue where the prefects’ compartment was) I happened to stumble upon my short-note-writing friend Remus.

“Heya Remus!”� I greeted, waving tentatively.

“Hi,”� he said, hesitantly but brightly.

“Well,”� I began, after a really, really, pregnant silence (as in, “my-water-just-broke”� pregnant) “I can’t seem to find the prefects compartment; you might be able to help me in that department.”�

I resisted the urge to yell “Hey, Look! That rhymes!”� and waited for his response.

“I’ll show you the way, but let my drop off my luggage first, okay?”� he said, offering a timid grin.

I returned an awkward smile myself, and off we went. This time, the silence was a bazillion times more bearable.

Herein we reached the compartment (or however you use herein). Inside I found Sirius trying to climb into Marlene’s lap as she read a book, Emmy inching as far as possible from Peter, who she was sitting next to. James and Peter were trading chocolate frogs cards.

Seeing me, James grabbed Marlene’s book and covered his face. I could still see his black hair sticking out from behind the text book.

“James Potter,”� I scoffed here, and Marls took her book back, “As if hiding your face behind a text book makes you unrecognizable. Do you really think I’m that stupid? Or perhaps you’re under the expression that I’m blind?”�

James laughed, and dared to ask me:

“So, you’re not mad at me for the butter bosom thing?”�

“Your stupid, immature comments don’t affect me.”�

“Okay then…”� he said, somewhat blankly “What’s up…butter cream bosom?”�

I barely held myself back from hexing him half way to Halloween while he grinned moronically. It’s interesting how it is so much easier to be mean to your crush than to be civil.

It must have been at this point that I developed a tick at the corner of my left eye (which is plaguing me, right now, as well) Instead, I rolled my eyes and leaned against the door frame.

Remus put up his crap, and we left. The meeting was boring. Everyone expects Lily Evans to be the bright, rule loving, straight O student that they hear about from various persons. They don’t seem to comprehend that there is more to me than smarts.

Eventually, I _had_ to go back to the compartment…to my woe. The moment I came in, James opened his mouth to say something.

I meant to say, “Don’t even start, Potter,”� but the sun hit his hair and it was so shinny. He also has these enticing, deep, rich eyes; chocolate brown with a mix of hazel. I stared at them for a few minutes before he spoke and woke me form my reverie.

Since I never uttered the phrase, he did start. He never stopped. At some point, I asked why we were in _this_ compartment. Marlene said that there were no more empty compartments. But I bet that she secretly just wanted to be with Sirius and not deal with his friends alone, so she dragged us along.

Soon Black joined in with James’ barrage of pointless questions.

“Pass me a chocolate frog, butter cream bosom?”�

“Oh, butter cream bosom, do you happen to know the time?”�

“Hmm, it seems my shoe has landed next to you. Would you mind giving it back… butter cream bosom?”�

“Are we there yet butter cream bosom?”�

“Butter cream bosom, will you please give me my shoe back? Really.”�

“Tell Sirius he doesn’t deserve to get his shoe back butter cream bosom.”�

“Tell James to shut it, butter cream bosom, won’t you?”�

At this point, I was picking lint out of my pockets, trying to determine if I had enough to stuff into my ears and block out their endless droning.

To my relief, I didn’t, because I wasn’t quite fond of the idea of sticking lint into my hearing cavity.

Hmm…but I can always stick it up Potter’s and Black’s noses when they’re asleep. I heard one needs the nasal cavity to speak. I supposed I could just jam it down their throats, but becoming mute by lint up the nose is much more of a humorous idea.

With these thoughts in mind, I left the train laughing. The other six looked at me like I had lost all my cauldron cakes (akin to losing one’s marbles) but quoting Lewis Carroll (again)…or more specifically…the Cheshire Cat:

“We’re all mad here!”�

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**Later…**

I just realized I never wrote about the rest of my evening, and my anal-ness prompts me to do so.

Feast. Marauders snorting their food as means of digestion. Black braiding Marlene’s hair. Em upsetting the milk jug. Firsties being sorted. Leading said firsties to Gryff. Tower. Writing. Peeing. Sleeping. Waking up. Being anal. The End.

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**  
A/N:  
** Gimme a "J!"...gimme a "A!"...gimme a "M!" gimme and "ES!" what does that spell? JAMES!

Oh really, like you didn't know. So um...I love you, review!

Cheers,  
- **W** ired


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